


ask me no questions (i’ll tell you no lies)

by LadyFeste



Series: The Hungry City [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Also a little Alfred right at the end, Alternate Universe, Bruce Wayne is a Metahuman, Could stand alone, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Gen, Humor, Jason Todd is Robin, LGBTQ Characters, Light Angst, Like a nice spritz of lemon juice, Truth Serum, Wait no there’s like two straights oh crap aw man, bc no one in this au is straight, just like right at the end, publishing this at work so limited editing, well Neither of them are in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFeste/pseuds/LadyFeste
Summary: Bruce has an unfortunate mishap on patrol. His sons think this is the best thing that’s ever happened to them.
Series: The Hungry City [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1378894
Comments: 16
Kudos: 201





	ask me no questions (i’ll tell you no lies)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about how long it took to get a new story in. Seasonal affective disorder hit me Hard this last winter. But the sun is out now and I’m feeling loads better and more motivated. 
> 
> This one’s mostly set up for other stories in the future of the series, but it’s also a lot of fun. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Minor tw for non sexual consent issues and forced coming out at the end of the chapter

“Did you find the camcorder?”

Dick grinned and waved the Sony recorder over his shoulder. “This one’s new, but he kept it in the same place.” 

“He just got it last year,” Jason said, Gotham’s accent thick and rough in Dick’s ears. It was stronger when he got excited. “I can’t find the blank tapes, but this one’s only marked for your ‘91 training tape, there should be at least another half hour on it.” 

Dick took the tape and fitted it into the slot, turning on the camera and waiting for all the little lights to come on. Usually Alfred or Bruce was behind the blame thing. Jason bounced on his heels beside him. “Hurry. I don’t want to leave ‘im alone too long. Is it running? Batteries working alright?”

He looked every inch of fourteen in the Robin costume, sans mask and cape. His hair was a touch too long for his face--maybe he was trying to grow it out?--and it still looked fluffy despite the post patrol grime. Dick pointed the camera at him and fiddled with a dial. “Yeah, it’s recording.” A red light blinked at the top, and a little _Mar 20, 1996_ time stamp appeared in the corner of the viewing screen. Jason began racing toward the study and Dick followed. He turned the camera back on himself, hoping he wasn’t showing up as just a blob of hair or blue in the corner. 

“So we just got through fighting Poison Ivy,” he told the camera with a broad grin. “She’s in police custody now, but we had to get out fast because Bruce--” He dissolved into manic giggles, clapping his free hand over his mouth. The camera shook in his hand. Jason ran to the bookshelf and yanked at the lever to open the door to the elevator in the grandfather clock. 

“Bruce definitely got tagged,” Jason called, floating in and out of the camera’s sight, bouncing around in glee. Dick turned the camera onto him. “We had to get him out before he asked the Commish to bring his wife’s recipe for melon ball punch to dinner next week.” 

“Yeah, something’s definitely not connecting up in the old Bat-brain. I got there late, what did she say--” 

“She said she was working on some kinda truth serum, but it’s _clearly_ still experimental.” The elevator dinged and opened. Jason grabbed Dick’s hand and dragged him inside. 

“Something about relaxing the victim and lowering their inhibitions, opening to suggestion, blah blah blah?” Dick asked. “That’s what I heard. 

“Yeah, something. She was monologuing. I was trying to get you on the all-call since we hadn’t meant to run into her just yet, wasn’t paying that much attention.” Dick nodded along. He was only in Gotham because Poison Ivy was one of three rogues Bruce pulled out all the stops for, including working directly with the police. Her ability to influence or sometimes just straight up control people made her more dangerous than the common thug. Mad Hatter and Scarecrow were the others, for the same reason. 

Dick turned the camera to face himself again. “Point is, it makes him blabby.” 

“She asked what his identity really was.” 

“She _what?_ ” The jerky movement on the camera stilled. 

“He told her his name was Wayne Battman.” 

Dick cackled, and the camera nearly fell from his hand. Jason reached out to steady his arm. “ _He what?”_

Jason couldn’t help but grin. “When she told him to be serious, he started _reciting_ them. Mutton Jeff, Bugsy Richardson, Matches Malone, Thomas Kane, Bob Nolan, Lefty Knox, Dirk Knight, Adam West, Bruce Finger--he dropped every alias he’s ever used on her and made up a few more.” 

Dick was gasping for air. “He could have just said _Bruce Wayne_ at that point and she _never_ would have--” 

“I _know._ He gave her so many horrible ones he’s not even gonna hafta burn any identities. She won’t remember. Anyway, he wouldn’t shut up and she was getting mad, so she didn’t even notice when I snuck up behind her. It was great.” 

His brother’s first solo major Rogue collar. He would have been prouder if he could breathe through the thought of Bruce doing that shit-eating grin and dropping the _ridiculous_ crime drama Bugsy Richardson accent on _Poison Ivy_ in the middle of a fight. “ _Please_ tell me he did the voices for the names.” 

“He does it every time! It’s awful!” 

The elevator dinged again and opened on Bruce sitting at the chair in front of the Bat Computer, spinning slightly, cowl off. The boys edged closer, camera trained on Bruce’s face. “Hey, B?” Dick asked. “How’re you feelin’?”

Bruce finished off another rotation in the office chair, slouching down a little. He looked younger than he was with the cowl hair and an actual pout. “Bad.”

Jason tensed. “Bad?”

“Had to punch Poison Ivy. It never feels good.”

“What, because she’s a woman?” 

Bruce shook his head. “A little, but. Mostly because ideologically speaking, she’s right. I just wish she’d stick to corporate sabotage and public protests instead of killing people. Now I’m going to have to donate to a prairie protection and preservation charity.” 

Jason and Dick looked at each other in confusion. “Why?” Dick asked.

“Because when I punched her last time, I did African rainforests.” He lifted his chin off his chest, pout growing more pronounced under his distinctive nose. “Prairies are just as ecologically significant and are afforded fewer protections, you know.”

Jason clapped a hand over his mouth to smother the return of the giggles. Dick grinned. “Do you donate every time you get in a fight with Ivy?”

“Of course. Just because she’s an incredibly dangerous super villain doesn’t mean she doesn’t make good points when it comes to wildlife preservation. She knows her stuff.” Bruce slumped down further in the chair and gave another little spin. 

“Is she the only one you donate for? Wait, what about Harley? Do anything special for her?”

“Battered women and domestic violence supports.” 

Dick snickered. “Of course. And Catwoman gets a tiger rescue?”

“I don’t punch Catwoman.”

Dick dragged Jason a few more stumbling steps forward to bring the camera closer while he looked for the zoom button. “And why is _that?”_

“If I can get close enough to punch Catwoman, it’s a trap.” Bruce blinked absently, dilated pupils twitching toward his boys, and pushed the camera out of his face. Dick refocused it back. “You need a haircut, son.”

He squawked indignantly, whacking Jason’s arm when he laughed out loud. “I do not!”

“You do. I can’t take you serious with that half-assed mullet and neither will any mugger on the street. Either grow it out or cut it off.”

“Bruuuuuce,” Dick whined, smacking a howling Robin again. “I’m an adult. I can make my own cosmetic decisions.”

“Your decisions are bad,” Bruce said bluntly. “Keep the eyeliner, ditch the hair.”

“...my mask is on. How’d you know I was wearing _eyeliner?”_

“I’m the world’s greatest fucking detective.”

Jason dropped to the floor, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Dick pouted, shooting a glare down and taking a step back. “How about you insult _him_?” 

“I’m not insulting anyone. I adore you and despise your trashy fashion sense. Jason is a delight and he always looks fine.” 

“Let’s go back to Catwoman.”

“Catwoman doesn’t give anyone else a leg to stand on. She’s stunning no matter what she wears.”

“Jason, you owe me twenty bucks, I _told_ you he’s got a crush on Catwoman—“

“I can’t say the same for some _other people_. At least you’re not as bad as Harvey yet. G-d love him, the man can _not_ pick a decent suit to save his life. He used to let me dress him, back in the day. Somehow it’s gotten even _worse_ since Two Face got stuck in his head.” Bruce clumsily beat a fist on the arm of the chair. “You’d _think_ a man with so much expendable income and a tailor willing to Frankenstein two tuxes together would be willing to _listen_ when the tailor tells him that the cut he likes makes his pants look cheap and his jackets too big.

“And don’t get me started on _Tetch_ ,” he sneered. “It’s one thing to have a signature style, it’s another to wear bargain-bin Halloween costumes and call it _fashion_. And that _hat--_ burning it would be too kind.” Jason slapped at Bruce’s leg, fighting to force out words in between bouts of laughter.

“Do Riddler, do Riddler!” Bruce sat up straighter, eyes refocusing and catching on the camera. He jabbed a finger at the air in it and Dick’s direction, expression serious.

“Edward Nygma is the best damn Rogue I’ve got and I don’t care who knows it. His sense of style-- the commitment, the _panache_.” His expression went mournful and he slumped back into his chair. “Why couldn’t you be more like Edward, son?”

“Bruce, he’s a supervillain!” Dick’s voice edged upwards and Jason, who had just about gotten his laughter under control broke down again.

“He’s brilliant and misunderstood and all he wants is attention.” Bruce countered. “He hardly ever hurts anyone. Sure, he gets over excited, but my G-d, the _mind_ on that man. One day, he’s going to be rehabilitated and we’re going to be best friends.”

“Best friends?” Jason’s voice was edging towards hysterical, a full octave higher than normal. Dick spun the camera around and mouthed _oh my G-d_ at it before refocusing on Bruce.

“Best. Friends.” He said firmly.

“Ok but,” Dick cut in, mind racing. “If Riddler’s the best, who’s the worst?” Bruce hummed and twisted idly in his chair.

“My archnemesis or the one I hate the most?”

“Both,” Jason said abruptly, dragging himself upright and back into frame. “Both _please_.”

“Archnemesis first!” Dick zoomed back in on Bruce’s face, muttering under his breath. “I can’t believe you have an honest to G-d archnemesis. Who does that?”

“Shut up,” Jason hissed, kicking out at Dick’s ankles. “I wanna hear this!” He turned back to Bruce and draped his arms over the man’s lap, hands folded as if in prayer. “It’s the Joker, right? Please tell me what you really think about the Joker.”

“He wishes he were my archnemesis.” Bruce scoffed. “No, I have the world’s worst archnemesis. The worst. He’s so awful I can’t even comprehend how bad he is.”

“Bruce, you’re killing me. Who is it?” Dick zoomed out enough to include Jason in the frame. His fingers were crossed and he was chanting.

“Please be Manbat, please be Manbat, please be Manbat.”

“It’s-” Bruce’s mouth twisted with disgust. “Do I really have to say his name? He might turn up-- he’s like a bad penny that won’t leave me alone.”

“I am dying, Bruce. You are killing me.”

“Calendar Man,” Bruce spat. He invested the word with every ounce of scorn he could manage.

“Who?” Jason screeched as Dick laughed so hard he almost dropped the camera.

“I don’t know how he does it, but he eludes me every time!” Bruce leaned forward and caught Jason’s face between his hands, staring deep into his eyes and whispering solemnly. “I’ve never caught him, Jason. Not once. Don’t let him fool you-- he’s the most competent Rogue of them all.”

“Bruce, you’ve got to be kidding.” Dick wheezed. “He’s not even a real Rogue! He doesn’t do anything!” Bruce squinted up at Dick, still squishing Jason’s cheeks between his palms. 

“He knows who I am, Dick.” Jason scrabbled at Bruce’s hands, pushing them down and away so he could talk. Bruce took the hint and released him, gaze shifting to stare at his hands as if they’d betrayed him.

“You’ve got to be kidding. The only guy worse than him is Condiment King.”

“I wish I was.” He curled his fingers into fists. “Who did you think ‘Mr. Dale Canna’ was?”

“The guy that sends you cards all the time? ...wait, _that’s_ Calendar Man?” 

“Of course it’s Calendar Man! It’s an anagram, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d tried.”

“That can’t be right.” Dick frowned, dropping the camera lower as he thought it through. “If he knew your ID, wouldn’t he just… I don’t know, tell everyone?”

“He’s smart enough to know that if he admitted to knowing my ID, he’d be painting a target on his back. He’s not like the others; he doesn’t commit crimes for attention. He commits crimes because he thinks it’s funny. He’s smarter than anyone gives him credit for, but stupid enough not to do anything useful with it. I just can’t crack the way he thinks.” Bruce’s fingers uncurled and he buried his face in his hands. “Every time I think I have him figured out, he does something that I never could have planned for it. And he gets away with it every time.” He parted his fingers and glared through them. “He is the bane of my existence.” Jason snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, drama queen. But like, doesn’t Joker have a monopoly on the ‘doing crime because it’s funny’ thing?”

“Absolutely not!” Bruce jolted upright and slammed his palms onto the arms of his chair. “That man doesn’t do anything because it’s funny. He doesn’t even know what funny is!”

“Aw, shit, hold on-” Dick scrambled to get the camera back in position. Jason threw his arms up in celebration.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Here it comes, I’ve been waiting all night for this!”

“Joker is nothing but an asshole. That’s it! He’s just an asshole! He’s a white boy in greasepaint and clown shoes who can’t commit to a single gimmick! Are you a playing card villain or a medieval jester? Or a clown? Because you’re terrible at all three!” The slurring was getting worse as he grew angrier, and he started talking with his hands. 

“He _is_ a bad clown,” Dick agreed with a surprising amount of heat in his voice. 

“He’s the _worst_ clown!” Bruce snapped, throwing his arms up. “He’s not even good at _crime!_ All he knows is smash ‘em up jobs and grinning at people until they back down. Even his whole ‘half the crimes are silly, half are deadly’ shtick doesn’t pan out, because he _is_ predictable. All you have to do is think ‘if I were an idiot in clownface with all edge and no point, what’s _the_ edgiest, _the_ fucking assholeriest, _the_ most ‘oh I’m so dangerous’ stunt I could do?’ and then go there, because that’s where he is! 

“You know what he is? He’s a damn school shooter. That’s what he is. I _told_ the media in the _beginning_ to treat him like a school shooter, give him absolute anonymity, put him on the back pages, don’t give him more than brief column, don’t call him by his chosen name, don’t put in any pictures, and for G-d’s sake, _don’t give him any alliterations,_ but nooooo--” He broke off and made a pinched face, raising the pitch of his voice into a mockery of the editor of the Gotham Times. “No Mr. Wayne, a man dressed like a Party City evil clown putting a bomb under city hall and filling the water reservoir with playing cards is _news._ Mr. Wayne we can’t ignore an asshole robbing jewelry stores with a bunch of people in discount clown noses.” He jabbed a finger in Jason’s direction. “I knew back when he was calling himself that stupid fucking hood name he was gonna be a _problem_ if he got a taste of the power he wanted, and now look! He’s not even _crazy!_ The way he behaves is an insult to all people struggling with _actual_ mental illness, and it makes it ten times harder for people to seek treatment. And the only reason he’s in Arkham taking up valuable resources and gaslighting perfectly good psychiatrists is because he hired a trash bag lawyer and worked an insanity plea angle, because he knew very well he’d get the death penalty if he didn’t. I hate that motherfucking clown _so much_ and we’d all be a _lot_ better off if the media just stopped giving him the attention he wants!” 

Jason and Dick exchanged glances, Jason still struggling to breathe from laughing. “I thought you said Riddler wanted attention.” 

“Riddler wants _my_ attention because he wants the _interaction._ With Riddler it’s always a back and forth, a push and pull, a dance. Joker doesn’t want my attention, he wants _Gotham’s_ attention, because he wants people to be _afraid_ of him. Not the way Crane does--Crane doesn’t care if people are afraid of _him,_ he just wants them to be afraid. Joker wants people to recoil at the mention of him, he wants the to panic when he walks down the street, because he’s a fucking _asshole school shooter_ and he gets off on seeing other people react to what he does. He’s like that shitty director from the board of LexCorps who goes to the galas and tells shitty racist, sexist, ableist jokes just to watch people squirm, and to hang out with people who laugh at them. It doesn’t matter if he actually _believes_ the rot he’s spouting, he wants to find other white men who believe they’re superior in some way and convince them through fucking _cult tactics_ that he’s superior to even _them,_ and that gives him value in their eyes for some reason. But more than that, he wants to watch reasonable, good people squirm, and when he gets called out on it he wants to see the helpless fury in their eyes when he goes ‘what, it’s just a joke. Can’t you take a joke?’ _That’s_ exactly what Joker’s like. He’s not special or important or good at anything. He’s just an asshole that we gave more power by giving him fuel.” 

Dick made a quiet “ohhh.” “So _that’s_ why you never take Joker seriously when all the city’s up in arms.” 

Bruce shook his head, red faced with anger. “If you take him seriously, he gets worse. S’why he hates me so much. I see right through him.” He leaned forward and pointed at his own squinting eyes before turning the fingers at the camera. Dick snickered. “And I wish Harley could too. That’s _another_ thing. He’s an _abuser._ ” 

“How’s Harley rate on your rogues?” Jason asked, wheezing. 

“Harley needs help. I don’t think she can ever go back to what she was before, but she needs help, and I don’t think she’ll ever leave him.” 

That turned the mood far sadder than they intended. Dick cleared his throat, casting around for another villain. “Well, what _about_ Crane?” 

“A scientist,” Bruce said with a sniff. “And likely not altogether well. His compulsions are dangerous and he’s hard to control. Problem is he’s motivated by _study_ instead of by cash or infamy. He’s like Ventriloquist, his motivations are internal. You can’t fix that. All you can do is contain him.” His tone went flat. “Also he just _is_ a deeply unsettling person on his own.” 

“This isn’t fun,” Jason muttered to Dick. They weren’t getting anything out of Bruce anymore that he hadn’t said at some point before. “He talks about the sad rogues all the time. This is truth serum. He avoids talking about the League. Ask him about them.”

Dick pointed himself and the camera back at Bruce. “What’s Superman’s dirty secrets? You have to know them, you know everything.”

“Superman’s secrets are only dirty because he’s a hick,” Bruce said with a scowl. “He’s a gross redneck hillbilly from the middle of nowhere, and I hate it. He’s too good. It’s disgusting. He says ‘golly’ unironically, he ‘opes’ inanimate objects, he drinks powdered coffee, and his ass is flatter than the stupid Kansas grassland he grew up in. How does a man like that have such a terrible ass? He has no _right.”_

Jason, already giggling, howled at the scandalized look on Dick’s face. “Bruce, you can’t _say_ that!”

“It’s _true.”_ His face flushed darker and he slapped a hand on the arm of his chair. “It’s because he doesn’t _have_ to work out, so he _doesn’t,_ and somehow spending eighteen years hauling hay bales to the town square and wrestling pigs and fighting raccoons or whatever the fuck you do when you grow up in fucking _Kansas_ of all places didn’t do anything for him. Why do you think he wears that _fucking shit_ cape? It’s not to help him _fly._ It’s because Lois Lane—“ he slapped the chair arm again. “—has vowed on her _life_ to get a picture of Superman’s butt and he doesn’t want the world to know there’s _no ass to take a picture of._ There’s nothing there! I’ve seen it!”

“I would kill to be in a Justice League locker room,” Jason gasped through the tears streaming down his face. “ _Please_ take me with you next time.”

Dick swatted his arm. “ _Jason_ this is _Superman_. We can’t talk about his _ass_ like this!”

“Well we _definitely_ can't talk about Wonder Woman’s. That’s disrespectful,” Jason said. His eyes widened as he focused on Bruce’s face again. “What?”

“It’s just that—I don’t think she’s actually mind that much? But I would. And it would be—weird.”

“Don’t worry,” Dick said, shaking his head. “We’re not gonna—“

“Why would it be weird?” Jason cut in, and shoved Dick when Dick shoved him for interrupting.

Bruce’s distinctive nose wrinkles in distaste. “She keeps calling me little brother in various languages I can’t admit I know and it’s starting to wear off on me.” 

Both boys erupted into perfectly matching delighted grins, Jason shaking Dick’s arm, making the film footage jump around. “I can’t believe it,” Dick said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Jason, Wonder Woman is our aunt.”

“If _either_ of you,” Bruce said, jabbing his finger directly into the camera. He leaned forward menacingly and almost toppled out of the chair. “If _either_ of you call her that within her earshot, I will ground the _both_ of you so hard you won’t see daylight until you turn thirty. Do _not_ encourage her.”

Jason cackled. “You can’t talk to me like that. I wanna go live with Aunt Diana.”

“ _Boys.”_

“I mean, it beats Uncle Hal or Uncle Barry, right?”

Dick winced, but was unable to keep from smiling. “Careful, little wing, you’ll give him an apoplexy.” A vein was starting to pop in Bruce’s forehead.

“The Flash isn’t bad. He minds his own business and hasn’t—his skill set isn’t as dangerous as the others. Hal Jordan got that lantern ring because he has more stubbornness than good sense, not because he’s _good_ at anything. He’s all attitude and no substance. And he’s careless, even more careless than Superman was in the beginning.”

“But we all know,” Dick said, shooting a look at Jason and zooming the camera in. “That he’s not the worst of them. I think there’s a certain... _Queen_ who has that position?”

Bruce slumped forward into his chair, gauntleted hands gripping the arms hard enough to hear the plastic groaning. _“Green Arrow.”_

Jason snorted. “What _is_ your beef with Oliver Queen anyway? He’s basically you.”

“Uh oh.”

“ _Basically me_?” Bruce’s voice went up a full octave in pitch, which was _hilarious_ with the rest of the batsuit still on him. 

Dick zoomed in on Jason’s reddening face. “Now you’ve done it. The ultimate betrayal.”

“Basically _me?”_ Bruce repeated. “He’s a _billionaire.”_

Jason shrugged. “You were a billionaire.” 

“Keyword _were._ I _was_ a billionaire because I had an exorbitant trust fund accruing interest and a lot of accounts tied up in lucrative investments when I was a teenager and didn’t have any control of my company or access to the money. As soon as I _did_ get those things, everyone at Wayne Enterprises got large raises with backpay and I started the Wayne charities and funding Batman. I am no _longer_ a billionaire because I treat my workers fairly, give back to the community, and pay my _fucking taxes_.”

“You forgot he was a Jewish socialist. Now we have to listen to the economics lecture. _Again._ ” Dick quickly zoomed in and out on Jason’s face. He scowled and pushed the camera away with a quiet “fuck off, Dickhead.”

“Oliver _Queen_ earmarks money directly from his companies to fund Green Arrow instead of using his own personal funds, and he does that _specifically_ so he can claim charitable donations and avoid paying his taxes. Sure he pays his workers a living wage, but his materials sources do _not,_ and he doesn’t even do the _research_ , he just goes with them because they’re _cheap._ Queen Industries’ benefits packages are _shit_ and they don’t offer paid family leave _or_ sick days. Two weeks of PTO available a year is a _joke._ It’s a billion dollar company! Do you know how _hard_ it is to spend a billion dollars when you’re actively _trying_ to get rid of it? He could give all his workers six months’ paid leave and _still be a billionaire._ ”

Jason groaned dramatically and grabbed the weighted edge of Bruce’s cape, draping it over his head. “Okay, _okay_ , I get it, Green Arrow’s a rich asshole. You’re a rich _nice guy_.”

Bruce made a weakened attempt to pull the cape out of Jason’s grip, likely before he accidentally activated the stiff boning sewn into the lining to allow gliding. Dick had broken his wrist doing that when he was Jason’s age, so it was a fair concern. “He _says_ he’s a changed man, but he’s still an _asshole,_ and I get it, it takes time to figure this stuff out, but he’s not _stupid._ The arrogance doesn’t seem to be going away either. G-d, he’s so smug, you just want to punch him. And _Green Arrow_? He doesn’t _have_ to _do_ that! He can do good and make amends by just giving up some money! It’s just another way for him to get fame and limelight, even if it’s not under his name. Asshole. And I have to _work_ with him like he’s not _detestable._ G-d if I’d known he was going to go Robinson Crusoe and turn into a vigilante I _never_ would have slept with him in college.”

“You _what_?” Jason screeched, dropping the cape, eyes as large as dinner plates. Dick was sure he looked much the same—his mouth hung open, and it was only thanks to the hand strap that the poor camcorder didn’t hit the floor.

Bruce turned tomato red. “...that doesn’t leave this cave.”

“ _When?”_ Dick heard his voice asking without really processing what he was saying, at almost the same time that Jason shouted “I didn’t know you were _gay!”_

“I think the most current term for me is bisexual, and my first year of college, and about a year before he went missing.” 

“You could have told _me!_ ” Dick said, as Jason just shrieked again. “I had no _idea_ you weren’t—hold on. You would have been, like, seventeen.”

“Yes,” Bruce said darkly.

“He was like, twenty-two when he went missing.”

“I didn’t say it was even a good idea _at the time,_ Dick.”

“Oh my g-d.”

Jason screeched again. “Did Oliver Queen take your v-card, B?”

“Isn’t seventeen a little old—“ Dick started.

“ _This does not leave this cave!”_

_“Oh my G-D.”_

Jason buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Bruce growled at them again, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Are either of you even working on an antidote?”

Dick refocused the camera. “How many other men have you dated?”

“I don’t have to air my dirty laundry to you.” 

“C’mon, I tell you about all my boyfriends and girlfriends and SOs of varying alien genders.”

“Dick Grayson, I am your _father_.” 

“And incapacitated right now. Spill.”

“...two.”

“Do we know them?”

“...yes,” Bruce ground out through clenched teeth. 

Before he could ask who they were, smaller hands than his closed over the camera. Dick blinked down at Jason. “Hey, you’re quickly approaching not cool, Dick. Cut it out.”

Dick pouted, but lowered the camera. “Oh, c’mon, it’s fine. You know how annoyingly closed-lipped he is about his personal life, this is—“

“Yeah, that’s exactly the point,” Jason said firmly. “Don’t think this is how he’d wanna come out ‘n shit.”

“...yeah, you’re right. Sorry, B.” 

Some of the tension leaked out of Bruce’s shoulders, and he dragged his forearm across his sweaty forehead. “It’s alright this time, son, but you’re getting the lecture of your life as soon as I can think—“

“What in _blazes_ is going on down here?” A neat British baritone snapped, causing Dick and Jason both to shriek in alarm and whirl around. Alfred set the tea tray on a desk nearby.

“Poison Ivy tagged B with some kind of only mostly functional truth serum,” Jason said, standing in front of the camcorder to hide it from view. 

“And you two are taking advantage instead of running samples to find an antidote?” He raised a critical eyebrow.

The boys looked down, Dick setting the camcorder on a side table behind him. “Uh…we can explain?”

Alfred hummed in disapproval and went to the medical supply closet. “ _Shame_ on you both. I thought you knew better than that. I’m disappointed in you.”

Jason actually shuffled his feet, trying to ignore his face burning. Dick plucked at the corner of a towel until it covered the camcorder. “We’re sorry, Alfred. We shouldn’t have—“

“No, you shouldn’t have. Hit the showers, gentlemen. I’ll deal with you when your father is on the mend.” 

They trudged toward the showers, Jason pausing to shoot a guilty frown back at Bruce and the hidden camera. Alfred found the sedative he was looking for and bustled over to Bruce’s side. Bruce, seeing the syringe, began fumbling with the gauntlet straps. “Don’t be too hard on them, Alfie. They didn’t mean any harm.”

“That was ghastly of them,” Alfred said sternly. He set the needle aside and slapped Bruce’s hands away lightly to remove the gauntlet himself. “Whatever their intentions, they know better.”

“They’re young and dumb, and I don’t talk about myself often. It was a temptation. We can chalk it up to interrogation practice this time. I’ll talk to them.” The slur was returning to his words. 

“As will I, Master Bruce.” Having finally removed the gauntlet, he set it aside and searched for a vein. “Are you having any more serious symptoms?”

Bruce shook his head. “The sedative isn’t really necessary.”

“We’ll call it a removal of temptation. You’ll be more comfortable when you know your next words will be strictly of your own choosing.”

He caught Alfred’s arm with his free hand as the sedative went in. “I didn’t tell them,” he said, vehemently. “They still don’t know.”

Alfred stiffened. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

“...of course.” Bruce let out a long breath and relaxed, standing and allowing Alfred to help him stagger to the couch Dick had made him buy to put next to the bat computer when he was sixteen. “Thank you, Alfred.” 

“Get some rest. We’ll have you right as rain by the time you wake up.”

Under the towel, the camcorder clicked quietly as the tape ran out.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> SURPRISE this is also the very last story of Phase 1. Next story starts Phase 2, and we’re really getting into it from there. Who’s ready to find out what meta Batman can really do?


End file.
